


Check Ignition

by BountyHuntress16



Series: State of the Union(s) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Lime, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BountyHuntress16/pseuds/BountyHuntress16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Tetrad. Steve and Sam go on their first date; Nat and Bucky aren't far from their minds. The press doesn't help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check Ignition

He still gets blindsided by the press.

And it shocks Steve when he slips up because he knows how to anticipate them, how to handle them. And how to outrun them if need be. 

He _let_ them interview him after he marched in the Pride Parade. It wasn't easy but it seemed the right thing to do: let young people know one of their role models likes guys and girls the same.

Not that he thinks he's a role model. But a lot of other people do and he can't let them down. It feels better than hawking comic books and war bonds.

The point is, Steve isn't thinking about the press in the early evening. It's his small closet that's the focus. What do you wear to a date with a fella who's been a brother in arms up till now?

You're not going to impress him. He's seen you in a hospital gown. He’s seen your face purple and blue with bruises before your altered cells healed everything up. He’s walked you to the bathroom because they had to give you a potent cocktail of drugs that would kill anyone else just to keep you asleep while the nurses took care of you. It left you feeling weird for a short time after you woke up.

Steve's one suit (navy blue, picked out by Nat) is too formal. The jeans, t-shirts and sweats don't seem formal enough. Some guys know how to layer patterns and clothes. Steve knows what looks good when he sees it on other people but buying it for himself? Making it work? Nah.

Someone knocks on the door. Too early to be Sam and Bucky doesn't knock. Just slips into their apartment, so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t notice him. Sometimes he murmurs a greeting before slipping into his bedroom, sometimes he joins Steve on the couch to work through the stack of DVDs from the library.

Nat's the one at the door, garment bag slung over her shoulder. Her eyes flicker up and down his sweats and t-shirt.

"I thought you might need some help." She walks past him into the living room. It's smaller than his old place. Less luxurious. But it feels a little more secure. Bucky feels safe enough in it, at least.

"You didn't have to go to the trouble."

"I have a soft heart." She lays the bag over his wine-colored recliner and unzips it. Produces two blazers, a sweater and three button-ups. She holds up one of the sweaters to his chest.

"Where did you get these?"

"It’s a secret." The other sweater goes up against him. "It's going to be cold tonight."

"I get warm easily though." He rests his hand on her wrist. Lightly. She doesn't like to have her shoulder or hand squeezed, even with affection. "Thanks Nat. Really."

Her eyes soften and he knows he sees it because she let him see it. Warmth curls in his stomach.

"You're too easy, Rogers."

He laughs, shrugging. "Guilty. So tell me which clothes will look good together?"

Steve ends up in his familiar jeans with an unfamiliar light blue button up and black blazer. He feels like he should be wearing a tie. Whenever Bucky set him up back in the old days, they always wore ties. He and Nat argue about it for a while before he gives up. She’s not going to let him out of this apartment with a tie on.

"What are you doing tonight?" Steve asks, examining his reflection in the mirror.

Natasha shrugs. "If Barnes shows up in the next hour, spend some time with him."

"Make yourself at home."

"You told me that your door is always open." She settles into the recliner. "If you didn't mean it..."

Steve raises his hands. "I meant it Nat. You know that."

"I know." She smirks. "More fool you."

Sam arrives on time with three sharp knocks. He grins wide when he sees Steve so the outfit must be working. Steve likes the way Sam's black sweater hugs his torso. And…well he’s not wearing a tie either so Nat must have made the right call.

"Have fun boys," Nat calls, engrossed in an episode of Real Housewives. Bucky still hasn't appeared.

"You'll be alright here?" Sam asks.

She makes a shooing notion. "I'll be fine. Go."

Steve waves goodbye, Natasha waves back. And off they go.

Steve’s palms are sweating.

* * *

Even the half plates on the menu seem too much. He has the money to get a full dinner here, it just...it seems like an awful lot to pay for food. And he's adjusted pretty well to how much things cost in 2014.

It's not an out-of-time reaction.

"I know the head chef," says Sam. His lips tilt to one side. "She'll take care of us."

"I don't mind paying," says Steve. "They have a business to run."

"I asked you. Whatever our bill is, it's on me alright?"

"Are you sure?"

Sam nods. "I suggested the place, I'm not making you pay."

Steve will at least cover the tip, if Sam doesn't let him contribute to the bill. The waiter comes back with a Clausthaler for Sam and a Pabst Blue Ribbon for Steve. A second waiter appears with a plate he calls an "amuse-bouche." (Steve looks it up later and ends up getting caught in foodie blogs for hours.) They share thin slices of sea scallop layered with pancetta and drizzled with a maple-ginger-soy sauce.

"It's good," says Steve. "But whatever happened to meat and potatoes?"

"Can never tell if you're joking when you say something like that."

"I don't ever joke about meat and potatoes." Steve keeps a straight face for a full two minutes before Sam's smile breaks him.

"Is that why you only come over when I'm making pot roast?" Sam rests his hand on Steve's and it feels like it was supposed to be there all along. Lots of wasted time before it finally ended up there. His heart doesn’t beat when it should. Maybe the universe is stretching out the moment so he can savor it.

“Y-yeah.” He says at last. "It's the only thing Buck texts me. 'Pot roast at Sam's."

"He seems to just know when I'm going to make it before I even make it."

"He's over there often enough." Sam must enjoy that. Doesn't he have feelings for Bucky? Steve wonders if Bucky twists Sam up the way he does Steve. Both of them with feelings for Bucky but out with each other. Is it really okay?

"Hey," Sam strokes his thumb across the back of Steve's hand. "Go somewhere nice just now?"

"Sorry." Steve shakes his head. "So what else can you cook for all of us?"

"If you wanted to be really smooth, you'd ask what I'd cook just for you."

"Well...what would you cook just for me?"

"I’ll make you spaghetti and meatballs." Sam decides. "Italian food is romantic."

"Even with the garlic?"

"If you don't like garlic, Rogers, then we're going to have a problem."

"Garlic is fine." Steve puts his free hand atop Sam's, sandwiching it. "Anything you make is fine."

"I gotta warn you, I only have ten recipes that I rotate through. And I'm not that great a baker."

"I can do the baking. As long as it comes in a box with exact instructions."

"Fine by me." Sam leans forward. "My birthday is in two months and I like red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting."

They share clams casino for their appetizer, Sam gets the salmon and Steve enjoys a juicy steak. The nest of crisped carrot isn't bad after the initial weirdness and the mashed potatoes are rich and fluffy.

The head chef comes out with their coffee and dessert (creme brûlée). She's a tiny, fragile looking woman with iron-colored hair cut in a bob and smooth, obsidian skin. Steve offers his hand, afraid he might crush her tiny fingers but her grip is strong.

"It was delicious," he tells her. "Sam's full of praise for you."

"That's because he doesn't work in my kitchen anymore." The chef--Maisha--says, laughing. "When he did, I was a tyrant."

"I never used the word tyrant," Sam protests. "I grumbled but I never said tyrant."

"You were a chef?" Steve asks.

"No no, just a dishwasher. I worked here when I got back to the states."

"The two I have now aren't that good and they can't fill in for my prep cooks either," says Maisha. "If you ever feel like coming back, I'll fire both of them."

"So you _were_ a chef," Steve says once Maisha leaves and they're devouring the dessert.

"Filling in for a prep cook doesn't make you a chef. I'm just good with a kitchen knife."

"And modest."

"Well..." Sam darts a spoon over to Sam's "side" of the plate and steals a spoonful. "It is hard to do that, when you're as talented as I am."

"Poor, poor man." Steve repays the favor and steals some of Sam's custard. "How can I help you?"

Sam smirks. "I have a list."

* * *

This is how it happens.

They eat their dessert. Drink their coffee. Haggle and fight over the bill. They stand and head outside.

And into the crowd of reporters waiting. Steve is motionless, staring as three microphones are shoved up at him.

"Captain, is this a date tonight?"

"Captain Rogers, how long have you been seeing The Falcon?"

"Captain, how will you defend this to groups who think your sexuality reflects poorly on our country?"

"Wish I had my wings," Sam mutters into Steve's ear. "You okay?"

Steve gives Sam a nod before turning to the press. He lifts his hands and most of them quiet.

"Excuse me," he says. "But we have urgent business calling us. We can talk to you folks later."

"Yeah?" One of the reporters raises an eyebrow. "You just happen to have urgent business now? At 9 PM?"

"Son, when America calls, it doesn't matter what time it is." Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam bite his lip. "Excuse us."

Two of the reporters follow anyway. Must be the promise of a scoop. Steve picks up his pace—half-jogging towards the parking garage Sam parked in.

"Any chance you know a shortcut?" Sam asks, a half step behind him. "They're not stopping."

"I can carry you if you can't keep up."

"Oh no, don't you start."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Steve sprints ahead, laughing. Sam groans and puts on a burst of speed.

"Good luck getting into the car without me, Rogers!"

The reporters give up half way. It doesn't stop them from racing and laughing to the car. Steve gets ready to taunt Sam for losing and then Sam kisses him full on the mouth right as he reaches the finish line.

"...We should race more often," says Steve.

"Tell you what." Sam unlocks the door. "I'll drive, you run and we'll see who gets to my place first."

* * *

"About earlier..." Steve mumbles, half-asleep and fully naked in Sam's bed. He slides his palm down Sam's side.

"Hm?" Sam scoots closer. "Yeah?"

"Didn't run from the reporters because I was ashamed. I just didn't want them intruding on our night."

"Good." Sam kisses his shoulder. "That's why I ran too."

Steve shivers. Everything is falling away--reporters and missions and the complex bundle of feelings for Bucky and Natasha.

No, he's lying about that last part.

"Hey..."

"Hm?" Sam presses a kiss to his jawline.

"Before...you said you liked Bucky and me both."

"...Yeah." Sam sighs. "Yeah I do."

"How...you seem like it's not a problem."

"It's not a problem. It just...complicates things."

"You don't feel guilty?"

Sam shakes his head. "Spent a long time feeling guilty about who I loved and how I loved." He bites his lip and looks down at Steve's collarbone. Traces the line of it. "...I'm someone who can love more than one person at a time. In that way."

"Oh." Steve's heart feels like something has pierced it. Recognition. Someone else who might get that when he loved Peggy, he also loved Buck. That now he's head over heels for three people.

He swallows. Maybe he's jumping the gun--maybe Sam doesn't mean what he means. Maybe he just loves more than one but wouldn't....

"That bother you?"

"No, no it doesn't." Steve shakes his head and wraps his arms tight around Sam. "...not to steal your moment but I think I might be that way too."

"I had a feeling." Sam says, relief heavy in is voice. "I'm glad I was right."

"So...what do we do?" He wasn't sure how to ask the questions. Should've googled it.

"Not worry right now." Sam kisses his neck. "Are you alright with just staying like this for awhile?"

"Maybe some sleep too." Steve presses his hand to Sam's abdomen. "...Among other things."

"Oh? Don't start something you can't finish now."

"If you can't keep up, I understand."

Sam grins. "Son, when Captain America calls…”

Steve laughs against Sam’s lips.


End file.
